


You Think Too Much

by orphan_account



Category: A Separate Peace - John Knowles
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:26:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “What are you thinking about?”“Everything.”He pointed at me with a triumphant grin, “Exactly my point. Now, what are you really thinking about?”
Relationships: Gene Forrester & Phineas "Finny", Gene Forrester/Phineas "Finny"
Kudos: 27





	You Think Too Much

It was Thursday night, one of the worst nights because it teased an end to the week when it only led to Friday, and the sun had just begun to dip below the horizon so that we had to turn the lamps on. Finny crumpled up another attempt at his French homework and tossed it at my head. It bounced off and fell on my trig textbook, straight on top of the Law of Cosines I was committing to memory, before I scooped it up and launched it back at him. He caught it, of course, and did that airy laugh he does, but then I turned away to continue my work, and he pouted, tossing the ball up and catching it by himself.

“You think too much.”

I didn’t think that someone failing most of their classes had the right to tell me I thought too much, and certainly not the grounds to say so, but I found myself compelled to listen, and perhaps even slightly convinced to believe it. Finny had the propensity to convince people of the idealistic and the flat-out false. I think, in a way, I needed that. So I egged him on, 

“You’re really one to talk about thinking too much.”

“I happen to be a perfect authority on this subject. I’m doing just fine with the level of thought I put into things, because, you see, you don’t need to put thought into everything. Some things don’t matter, some things, well, you just can’t do anything about ‘em,” he set down the pen he was fiddling with and flopped onto his bed, “What are you thinking about?”

“Everything.”

He pointed at me with a triumphant grin, “Exactly my point. Now, what are you really thinking about?”

Finny was close - close in that the desk was just in front of his bed, and so physically he was right behind me, fixated on me, and close in that he was poking at the thoughts I prefered to keep away from prying eyes. I didn’t mean to snap, just like I didn’t mean to do many a thing I’ve done, but I closed my book just a bit too hard, and said just a bit too harshly, 

“I really don’t think you get it.”

I noticed only then that he’d been tapping the side of the bed with his heel; it went silent after that,

“Get what? You worry over-”

“You don’t get it. People from my hometown don’t go to fancy boarding schools in New England,” Finny looked over at the picture of the large southern house over my bed. By now he knew the truth about that, but I kept it up there, anyway, ”It took a whole lot on my part and their part to get me here, and I can’t just throw it all away.”

“Worrying a little less isn’t going to ‘throw it all away’, Gene, it’s just like you to say that.”

“It’s just like you to say _that_ ,” I found myself boiling over despite myself, and I stood from my desk, wild gesticulations accompanying my hypothetical, “Suppose I go off and play your game, then I come back here, and I don’t have time to study. Or I stay up late and study, and then I’m exhausted tomorrow, and I fail the exam. And if I do that enough, I’ll fail my classes, and I won’t graduate, and I’ve got one disappointed family waiting at home for me.” 

I was in his face by this point, nearly seething. In retrospect it was a trivial little comment, an innocent observation, but his flippant wave of my central conflict and motivation seemed to undermine everything I’d worked for. Finny’s eyes were wide, shaking, even, if that wasn’t just their usual shining - shining with jubilant life, usually, but now they glowed with intensity that would have unsettled me if I weren’t seeing fire myself.

He ran a hand through his hair before putting his smile back on, “You’ve got yourself thinking you’re going to fail without giving every ounce of your effort. You’re a real smart guy, Gene, I’m telling you.”

“Go back to my place and meet my brothers, then tell me I’m a real smart guy.”

The reference to my brothers knocked him off his feet for a moment, but Finny, with his impeccable balance, regained his footing instantly. He patted my shoulder with a firm hand, and that knocked me off my feet. But my balance is nothing in comparison with his swanlike grace.

“Well, naturally, I can’t do that. But I can tell you you’re a real smart guy, and you’re not going to be happy if you don’t live a little,” he punctuated that by ruffling my hair, and I stuttered uselessly while he gathered up a ball and a jacket and headed for the door.

In the doorway he turned back to me, hair illuminated by the golden setting sun, like an angelic apparition holding out its hand to lead me to salvation, smirking with the imperative of a siren,

“Well, you have it your way. I’m heading down by the river for a game of Blitzball with the guys if you wanna tag along.”

Finny knew, and knew that I knew, that I was going to acquiesce regardless of what I’d just said. He had too much power over me, far too much. And maybe he was right.


End file.
